


jealous sea.

by submissivekillers (prettylittlehead)



Category: Herbert West - Reanimator - H. P. Lovecraft, Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Biting, Choking, Creampie, Established Relationship, Fingering, Hair-pulling, Jealous Herbert West, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Slapping, VERY mild dubcon if only bc herbert just kinda jumped you, gender neutral reader, mentions of carl hill being a creepy piece of shit, switch herbert and switch reader, under-negotiated kinks but yr into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:56:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlehead/pseuds/submissivekillers
Summary: (and i don't think i can stop the jealousy //when it runs, it runs like lightning through my teeth)you've been getting some unwanted attention lately. herbert decides to take matters into his own hands.
Relationships: Herbert West (Re-Animator)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	jealous sea.

**Author's Note:**

> request: _may i please get a west x reader where he is domming the fuck out of the reader?? rough, demanding, etc... fuck i'd die for a west like that_
> 
> a herbert x reader fic originally posted on my tumblr, @submissivekillers. reader's genitals referred to as hole/clit, no other gendered language. herb gets a little soft dom around the middle and reader takes control by the end, but the reception of tumblr has been p universally positive so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ title and summary lyrics taken from "jealous sea" by meg myers
> 
> if you like my writing and want to see more, follow me on tumblr! i'll be transplanting more fics from there over time so stay tuned

Your boyfriend is mercurial, arrogant, and the closest thing the modern world has to a necromancer (a moniker he hates, but would begrudgingly accept from you), but you had believed him to be fairly vanilla when it came to the bedroom.

When it came to a battle of wits, Herbert was always confident and cool no matter the authority of his opponent; yet with you, all it took was a brush of your hand across his knuckles to have him stuttering over his words. He sneered at unnecessary displays of emotion but was always attuned to your state of mind, working through his admittedly-awkward interpersonal skills to make sure that you knew, without a doubt, that you had his heart. He had been open with the fact that you were his first partner - characteristically frank about it even with the tips of his ears flushed bright pink - and the handful of times you’d slept together had been slow, sweet things, Herbert content to let you take the lead in the bedroom. 

Which makes the position you’re in now - pinned on your front to an examination table as Herbert pounds into you hard enough to make the metal shriek under your combined weight - all the more pleasurable for the novelty. 

A particularly rough thrust rocks you up on tiptoe from the force of it, the moan that ripples from your throat slightly distorted from the way your cheek is pressed into the table. The metal is blessedly cool against your flushed skin; it soothes the bruises scattered over your chest and throat, where Herbert had bit and sucked at your flesh with almost manic fervor. Your feet had barely touched the basement floor before he’d hefted you onto the table, dropping to his knees and making you come twice with his mouth with almost businesslike efficiency before flipping you onto your front and rutting into you. 

His pace slows and then halts altogether, sliding out of you and drawing away until the only remaining point of contact is his palm on the nape of your neck, keeping you pressed flat. You whine desperately in protest, swaying your hips in what you hope is an enticing gesture. You’re repaid with an abrupt slap to your oversensitive flesh, the sting startling a yelp out of you. Yet the pain is more arousing than you would have expected; a fresh gush of wetness coats your thighs, another low moan reverberating against the metal as your cheeks flush hot with blood. His hand ghosts down your skin, pausing to dig his nails into the soft pad of your ass before he finds your hole and slides three long, slender fingers in without warning, immediately starting up a steady, rapid pace, heedless of your high-pitched keening. Each thrust is accompanied by an obscene squelch, and it’s as much the filth of the sound as it is the tight, pleasure-pain stretch of your walls that has you scrabbling uselessly against the smooth metal. Dignity discarded, you squeal and buck senselessly, eyes rolling in their sockets. 

His touch is gone as quickly as it came, your wail of loss once again answered with a smack against your heated flesh before he grabs the meat of your thigh and lifts your knee up on the table, spreading you wide and vulnerable. The palm on your neck slides down, following the arch of your spine before Herbert hooks his arm around your ribs and pulls your back against his chest, the fabric of his button-down stiff against your back - another reminder of your vulnerability, stripped bare and filthy before him while all he’s done is shed his tie and undo his slacks.

His name stutters breathlessly in your throat, one of your hands rising to grip his wrist as clever fingers pinch and roll your nipple, pressing roughly into the tooth marks he’s left on your skin. His cock slides against you, agonizingly close but not quite enough to give you what you need, and he laughs when you uselessly thrust your hips in search of friction, soft and a little cruel. 

One last squeeze to make you jolt, and then his hand settles around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze - just rests his palm there, thumb against your thrumming pulse. It’s enough to make you shudder anyway, inhaling deeply in anticipation. 

The gentle pressure of fingers on your jaw guides you to turn, your teary eyes locking with Herbert’s dark glare. There’s a manic edge to his expression - the way he looks watching a successful experiment, or when he knows he has someone cornered. You’ve never seen him look at you that way, and it sends a pleasant thrill down your spine. 

Herbert kisses you. It’s hot, desperate, full of teeth; he catches the plush flesh of your bottom lip and nips hard enough to draw blood, his low growl answered by your moan as he licks the taste of copper from your mouth. A strand of saliva connects you when he pulls away and you have to swallow through the hand around your throat, willing yourself not to drool, clinging to whatever shreds of composure he allows you. 

“You belong to me,” he hisses, looking into your eyes. “All of you”—his free hand slides down your body, cups your sex, and when he pulls away after only a second of stimulation the tears caught in your lashes start to trail down your cheeks—“is mine. Say it.“ 

Briefly, half-madly, you consider opposing him; refusing his command, pushing at his already-thin patience. You want more of this, more pleasure and more pain. You want to watch him destroy you. 

But. 

Through all the fire and manic energy, you think you can detect something else - a flicker of insecurity. You can’t imagine why - you’re too overstimulated to remember anything that happened earlier, your world reduced to his hand around your throat and his cock brushing maddeningly against your sex - but you know him now. You can read him well enough to tell that his demand for you to submit is as much a search for reassurance as it is a show of dominance. 

Herbert studies your face impatiently. His fingers flex around your neck, just tight enough that your exhale comes out as a broken wheeze, and when he lets up enough for you to breathe you gasp, “Yours!“ 

A kiss, quick and bruising, fingers idly squeezing. “Again.“ 

“I’m yours, Herbert, all yours, you feel _so fucking good—_ “ 

His hand tightens around your throat again, precise pressure on your carotid artery cutting you off mid-babble. Your voice dissolves into a thin, wheezing moan, your chest heaving as you breathe shallowly through your nose. Your vision, already blurry with tears, flickers dark around the edges. 

Herbert kisses the nape of your neck sweetly.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he sighs, and his voice is so tender that it hurts, and then he slides inside you in one smooth stroke, all the way to the hilt. 

You come.

Mouth stretched in a silent scream, your nails clawing at the arm around your middle, you spasm around his cock, writhing in Herbert’s grasp. You’re vaguely aware of Herbert cursing, his lips against your shoulder. He releases his grip on your throat and you scream for real, sobbing his name until your voice breaks into shattered moans. You see stars. 

When you come down, you’re left limp and panting, body still quivering from the aftershocks. Herbert’s arms around your waist are all that keep you upright; when your vision clears, you notice you’ve dug your nails in hard enough to draw blood, vivid welts forming in his pale skin. You think vaguely that that should make you feel guilt - not a rush of pleasure that has you flexing around the cock still hard inside you.

Herbert moans shakily at the sensation, arms tightening around your middle, and you realize with some satisfaction that he’s shaking almost as much as you are. He breathes in broken gasps, hot and quick, puffing against your throat. It takes him a few tries before he can speak, his voice still unsteady. 

“I can… y-you’re still so _tight_ ,” he groans, sounding more like the vulnerable Herbert you’ve come to adore. “Around me… can I…?" 

He punctuates his stuttering with a gentle pump of his hips and you echo his quiet moan, your own voice cracked and hoarse. You recline back against his shoulder, pressing kisses to the column of his throat until you find the flutter of his pulse. His soft hum breaks into a gasp when you bite down, hard, and you whine through your teeth when he bucks into you. You leave the marks of your teeth imprinted in his skin, pale flesh already bruising delicate crimson. 

"I don’t feel ruined yet,” you murmur.

Herbert’s nails dig into the meat of your hips, and then he’s moving. 

It’s steady, slower, not the punishing pace he’d kept before. In your state, you’re quickly overstimulated anyway. Your legs shake, unable to bear your weight; when his arms slip away from your waist you buckle forward, head resting on your crossed arms as Herbert fucks you over the table. The metal fogs with your hot breath.

Nimble fingers slide between your thighs, thumb pressing down on your clit, and another orgasm washes over you without warning. You whimper pitifully, body going lax as Herbert fucks you through your fourth orgasm of the night. 

His pace kicks up again, the sound of skin against skin reverberating through the basement as he chases his own pleasure. He braces one hand against the table next to your head, more leverage for the frantic pumping of his hips, and you blearily turn to press your lips to his wrist, nipping gently at the fluttering pulse point. Herbert curses, drops his forehead to your back. His teeth find your shoulder as he comes, a low moan vibrating against your skin, and you answer with one of your own as his weight settles on your back. You don’t think you have anything left in you, but somehow, incredibly, the sensation of his hot seed spilling into your insides wrings a fifth orgasm out of you. 

This time, you actually do pass out. 

When you wake, clawing back to consciousness, Herbert’s still inside you, grinding slowly against your hips. You can hear him whining softly against your skin, broken, needy sounds. You sob and writhe from overstimulation, reaching back blindly to bat at his thigh with a trembling hand. He finally relents, slipping from you with a quavering moan, and cum spills down your thighs, splattering to the floor. You groan, head dropping back to your folded arms. 

It’s quiet after, the both of you too out of breath to speak. You can hear the rustle of fabric as Herbert readjusts himself, his shoes tapping on the stone floor as he passes behind you. A faucet turns, water rushing. You can’t will yourself to look. You’re still splayed out on the table, open and dripping; you’d move, but you don’t trust your legs to hold you up. You feel sore and _used_ and - there’s no point in putting it politely - kind of sticky. 

You really, _really_ like this new side of him. 

The soft brush of fabric on your thighs shakes you out of your musing, but it still takes a moment for your fatigued brain to realize that he’s cleaning you off - the water makes sense, now. His touch is efficient but gentle, whatever feral impulse that claimed him before seeming to have faded, but it’s still almost too much; you shiver as he cleans the wetness from your thighs, and when he carefully wipes around your swollen, puffy hole you can’t hold back a whine, nails scraping the table as your muscles tense. Herbert shushes you, stroking your spine soothingly as he continues his careful ministrations. Finishing, he slides your underwear up your thighs and back in place. You have no idea where they ended up after he tore them off you. You’re honestly surprised they’re still intact. 

A pause, then he finally speaks. “Can you walk?" 

You wheeze out a laugh. “No, fuck you.” 

Herbert peels you off the table (literally - the sucking noise when your slick skin comes off the metal has you both snickering, even as you nearly topple over) and half-carries you to the couch, pulling you into his lap. You hum happily, curling up in his arms and resting your head against his shoulder. His pulse, still a little fast, thrums against your ear. 

You’re always struck by how pretty he looks after sex. Not that he isn’t handsome all the time, even running on nothing but reagent and spite, but there’s a softer quality to him after you’ve slept together; it feels silly to call it a glow, but you can’t think of a better word. His head is flung back as he breathes, collar still undone, pale skin beaded with sweat. The lines of his face, usually drawn tight in thought or in anger, are relaxed; thin lips slack, dark, full lashes fluttering against his cheek. 

He catches you peeking up at him and smiles, customarily awkward but still so sweet, and you catch him by the collar and pull him down. 

"So,” you break away from his kiss to say. “Where’d that come from?”

It’s subtle. But when you’re pressed this close, you can’t ignore the way he goes still, calm expression flickering with something you can’t quite name before he regains control. 

“Did you dislike it?” He asks, voice brittle. You shake your head.

“I loved it. I want you to do it again,” you say. A blush colors his cheeks, his expression both embarrassed and ridiculously smug, but irritation sweeps over his face when you continue on. “But I don’t like when you’re upset. I don’t mind if you take it out on me, but I still want to know what’s going on." 

” _Nothing_ is going on,“ he insists weakly, grimacing at the obviousness of his own lie. You’ve seen him lie to police and university faculty without so much as a blink, but he can never manage to hide from you. You watch him steadily, and he refuses to meet your gaze. 

You sigh. Sitting straight in his lap, you press your lips to the sharp hollow of his cheekbone, scattering slow kisses over the side of his face to the corner of his tight mouth. "Herbert,” you murmur between soft pecks. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s bothering you." 

He squirms - you do love to make him squirm - sighs, rolls his eyes. You trail your kisses lower, pressing your lips to the curve of his jaw. Herbert mumbles, so quiet you almost miss the words, “Hill was staring at you during the lecture again.”

You can’t help it - you snort, and then you’re full-on belly laughing, heedless of Herbert’s cute little pout. "Hill stares at anything that wears a skirt,” you wheeze when you’ve found your composure again. “You really think I’d give that old creep the time of day when I’ve got you?” A smile threatens to form, but he stubbornly bites it back, glowering at the floor. You take his face in your palms, guiding him to look at you. “I’m yours, Herbert,” you declare. “And you’re mine. You don’t need to be jealous - especially of fucking _Hill_ , god - because I’m not leaving you, okay?”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Herbert finally relents, leaning into your touch. He tilts his head, kisses your palm. “But I wanted to mark you. To show everyone that you’re mine. To—” He cuts off with a stutter, face flushing as you shift in his lap so you straddle his thighs. “Darling? What are you doing?" 

"If you get to mark me up, shouldn’t I get to mark you?” You press your thumb into the bruise blooming on his throat, relishing the vibration of his moan under your palm. Your other hand slides back, fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “You left so many bite marks all over me and I only left this one here. That’s not fair at all." 

"Hill doesn’t stare at me,” Herbert gasps, shuddering as you pull his head back. “Not like he stares at you.”

“Oh, I know. Just think of this…” You nose along his jaw, adoring the way his breath catches in anticipation. “As payback." 

Your teeth sink into his throat, just under the purpling bruise already forming from your earlier bite. Herbert lets out a choked groan, back arching. You nip and lick at the tender skin, worrying his flesh between your teeth until it’s flushed and swollen with blood. 

You pull back to admire your handiwork, and to scope out the next place you want to mark him, and that’s when you feel his palms on your hips, testing. You tug his hair warningly. "And no touching." 

His hands drop hastily from your skin, fisting in the couch cushions so hard you hear seams snap. Appeased, you press your lips to his skin again, his moans echoing in your ears as you suck a bruise into the joint between neck and shoulder. 

You do appreciate Herbert's newly-discovered dominant side. 

But it’s always nice to know that he can still be reduced to putty in your hands.


End file.
